It turned out to be a Cupian in an army toga, wearing the insignia of a low-ranking officer, and with a revolver slung at his side. This officer was holding over his head one of those umbrellas which all inhabitants of Poros carry whenever outdoors, not so much for protection against storms like these, as to ward off the blasting heat of the sun if it should happen to shine for a moment through a rift in the silver clouds. For Poros is very close to the center of the solar system, and only the circumambient cloud-envelop keeps it from being shriveled by the sun’s heat. The umbrella had evidently not protected this particular Cupian very much from the swirling rain, for his toga was dripping wet. Myles brought the car to a full stop and offered the officer a ride; so the latter clambered aboard through the rear door, as Myles sat impatiently at the levers, anxious to be on his way again. As the other walked forward to a seat just behind the driver, Cabot started up the kerkool. “Glad to give you a lift,” he said. “Pretty wet out, isn’t it?” “Yes,” his guest replied. “Very wet.” The voice sounded familiar. Maybe this Cupian was one whom he had met before. “I am Myles Cabot,” the regent announced. “Can you tell me anything about the progress of the hunt for Prince Yuri?” “Perhaps I can,” the other replied, sticking the muzzle of a revolver into Cabot’s ribs, “for I am Prince Yuri.” XXII AT YURI’S MERCY As Prince Yuri thrust the muzzle of his revolver between Cabot’s ribs, and at the same time revealed his identity, Cabot instinctively slowed down the kerkool. “None of that!” the prince shouted in his antennae. “Speed her up!” The earth-man obeyed. “What is the idea?” he asked calmly. “Now that you have got me, what do you mean to do with me?” “I intend to use you as my chauffeur,” the other answered, “to drive me through your lines in safety to Formia. Once there, we will leave your fate to Queen Formis.” “That is a lie,” Myles calmly asserted, “for the Formis, who is now queen, has no individuality when you are around.” “You flatter me,” was all that Yuri deigned to reply. They drove along for some distance without further conversation. The rain stopped. The weather cleared. Finally Cabot broke the silence with, “Seriously speaking, Yuri, I am sorry for you.” “Sorry for _me_!” the prince exclaimed with a laugh. “Well, well, that certainly _is_ a good one! Here I go and get you into my clutches; you, the only person on this whole planet who has ever thwarted my ambitions; and instead of grovelling before me, you merely sympathize with me. How so, you cursed spot of sunshine?”